Glass Alligators
Glass alligators
slide on their own bloat,
plagueships that float
over the muck
slurping it up, spitting it back;
it's so easy to break
if God finds the mistake
so they've learned how to make
it's so easy to break
if God finds the mistake
so they've learned how to make
their eyes look like toys'
too blank to annoy.
The glass alligators
stir their swizzlestick teeth
in a light liar's grin
as they soft-lick your skin.
(They just want to win.)
Their slick smoky sides
aren't built to hide
what's moving within:
aren't built to hide
what's moving within:
the clockwork tossed salad
of death and money,
of death and money,
blood for oil, power-honey.
Their brittle scales ring
like a bad novel brings
out every cliche
on the side of a truck
to turn a quick buck,
and each soiled rotting page
on the side of a truck
to turn a quick buck,
and each soiled rotting page
bleeds the end of an age.
~Four days before the 2016 U.S. Presidential election
for grapeling, and my real friends at Real Toads
Optional Musical Accompaniment
Image: Muddy Alligators, 1917 by John Singer Sargent
Public domain
